The Fart Machine, A Guy Who Stank To High Hell, And The Bride Of Frankenstein

There was a woman I worked with back about 8 or 9 years ago, her name escapes me. But her nickname does not escape me. I used to call her The Fart Machine. This woman farted constantly. Constantly. There was a period of about a month in 2002 when I had the great misfortune of trying to supervise The Fart Machine. There were a couple problems that came about when trying to supervise The Fart Machine. One, she wasn't good at the job. That meant I had to spend at least some period of each day retraining her. Two, The Fart Machine worked very slowly and spent lots of time away from her work area in the ladies' room. And three, and most importantly, she farted constantly. I dreaded calling her back to my desk to work one on one with her to try and improve her performance. Why? Because inevitably she would fart 3 or 4 times during the course of a 5 minute conversation. And some of the farts were not silent but deadly. Some of her farts were loud. I remember one afternoon we were chatting about some error she'd made and during the conversation she let 3 loud ones rip right in a row. I was half trying not to laugh and half trying not to cry from the horrid stench wafting around me. The thing about The Fart Machine's farts that was so distinct was this: I know she liked to eat lots of Mexican food. How, you might ask? Well, the reason I know she liked to eat lots of Mexican is that often the 5 feet around where she sat had the lingering stench of chimichangas. And I can assure you, that is no way to go through a work day. Trying to supervise a huge woman who farts Taco Bell all day is unpleasant. When it came time for me to do an evaluation on The Fart Machine, I did not mention the farting problem. But I did mention that she was awful at the job and too much trouble for any supervisor to have to deal with. And I can report that as a result of my honest, but not mean evaluation, The Fart Machine never worked at that place again. There are still times when I drive by a Taco Bell and get a nauseous feeling in my stomach just from the memory of those damn stinky chimichanga farts. And that's not a great way to go through life...

There was this guy I worked with a few years before The Fart Machine. And I do remember his name. Distinctly. The reason is that this guy had the worst body odor of anyone I've ever met in my life. I think this happened in 2000. I was supervising a group of about 10 folks on a project. And the training went fine. We were all ready to get down to producing some good work. Then the woman who monitored the projects comes up to me and asks if I can take someone from another group. A guy who really struggled to grasp what we were doing. And I said "Okay, Dillon." And that, as you all can imagine, was a mistake. And I found myself in a horrible predicament for the next 6 weeks on this project. The guy's name was J___ and the first thing he says to me when he introduces himself is "This coffee is legendary." And I thought, oh fuck, I've got a nut on my hands. And J___ was a nut. But that wasn't the worst thing about him. He also stunk to high hell. Every day. Since J___ came late to my group there was nowhere to put him but to my right. About 6 feet to my right. And his smell was so overpowering that anyone within 12 feet was gonna be afflicted by his horrid body odor. I got tons of complaints from the other folks in my group about the smell. But I couldn't do anything about it. I went to the monitor several times to explain my horrible situation with this smelly guy. But good old Dillon, she wasn't real keen on addressing issues like stink. So, J___ stayed on. And stunk. And stunk. And continued to stink. The worst thing was, like The Fart Machine, J___ was terrible at the job. I was constantly trying to fix his errors. I will say that after several weeks and about 5 cumulative hours of feedback from me, J___ became almost competent at the job. Almost. This stinky guy is the only person I've ever worked with who filled the out same form we used wrong 4 times. 4 times in a matter of an hour. Finally after he turned the form into me incorrectly that 4th time, I went over to him and asked "J___, are you doing this to fuck with me? Because at least that I can appreciate on some level." He wasn't doing it to fuck with me. I remember him sitting at his work area, just a few feet from me during lunch break every day. He got the same salad day after day from Grub Station II. And I often worked during lunch on that project to keep up wih the 11 folks I was supervising. And I remember the tears that came in my eyes as he took his stinky black leather jacket off. It was the most horrid smell from a person I've ever encountered. And I often thought, it's just my luck to be given a special person to work with from another group. One that is generally bad at the work, needs tons of oversight, and smells worse that the infield at a NASCAR race after 3 days of partying. J___ managed to stick around 2 more projects after I supervised him. As I said, after lots of hard work, he became barely competent. The next 2 guys who supervised J___ had the same problems with the smell and same issues with the quality of his work output. J___ was put on the Do Not Rehire list and I thought I'd never see him again. Then, about 4 years later, I'm standing outside smoking and chatting with a guy I worked with there for years, and who walks up out of nowhere but the stinky J___. This is where the story gets so bizarre that if I hadn't witnessed all of it first hand, I'd never have believed it. Now, there was a woman who worked there who was one of the ugliest human beings to ever grace the earth. And she lurched around on swollen feet and ankles. I mean her feet were bulging. I never could figure out how this monstrous looking woman could fit into any pair of shoes. Her appearance and gait were such that my nickname for her was Bride Of Frankenstein. And boy did this woman gave me so many headaches over the years. She was always late. She fell asleep pretty often. She would argue needlessly with me. She would sit with a bag of potatoes by her feet (seriously). She often needed a jump for her car. And most importantly, she was hideous to look at. Well Bride Of Frankenstein took a second job at some call center in town. And while working there, Bride Of Frankenstein met stinky J___. They started dating. They fell in love. And it's at this point that J___ came walking up (he still stank by the way - just as bad as ever) that day after 4 o'clock as I was out smoking and chatting with Rich Lepors. J___ reached his hand out and said "Good to see you again." I said "Sure. What are you doing here?" J___ said "I'm here to pick up my girlfriend." I said "Oh. Okay. Cool" And wondered who this stinky ass loser's girlfriend could possibly be. I wasn't gonna ask. So, J___, Rich, and I are having about a 2 minute awkward conversation. And then out walked the Bride Of Frankenstein. And then she walked over to stinky J___. And then the Bride Of Frankenstein gave the horrid smelling guy I'd supervised 4 years earlier a kiss on the lips. And I will be completely honest about my reaction to what I'd just witnessed. And Rich Lepors can confirm that this is true. I puked.

Some day I'll have to write about the guy who worked there and mailed a turd to the office after being dismissed. Or the woman who was so upset with the janitor that she stomped out of the restroom with crap on her shoes and spread it all over the break room floor. Or the woman who was so big that she needed assistance getting off the toilet. Or the guy who got dropped off in a Mercedes in the morning and used to stumble over to me and Darrell Hodges to bum a smoke. Or the guy who left his van running for 2 hours after coming to work. I could go on and on and on...Maybe I will someday.

I got a comment regarding the sexting from yesterday's post. And I wanna say for the record, if any images of me in some kind of aroused state ever surface on the old World Wide Web of Deceit, they are doctored or photo shopped or something.

Also, I did flip by the Friends last night on TBS and noticed an episode where the chick who was married to Pitt gets kissed by a girl who is one of my all time favorites. It was watchable. That's for sure.

Dance into the fire

Greg Oden Sexts

Well, it looks like things are starting to really look up now for our charismatic superstar, Barack Hussein Obama. He gave his big speech last night and claimed that the country has never been in better shape and that he's totally optimistic for the future. The dude is either a pathological liar or completely delusional. Maybe a mixture of both. Whatever the case, if Barry stays on this current course, he's in deep trouble. The whole thing is just depressing. Jive, jive, and more jive. It's like watching brothers trying to pick up white chicks at that dive bar in Atlanta. Amusing to a point, but in the end, just pathetic.

A comment from yesterday's post urged me to look into what's going on with a local politician and some business dealings involving an old hotel here in downtown Greensboro. And I got on the News & Record website and did pull up an article about it. I got bored of it pretty quickly though. I did try to look into it. There was some effort put forth on my part. I just don't care that much. I gave up being outraged at Skip Alston years ago. Sorry.

Some crazy news out of the NBA, as my man Greg Oden has had some nude photos he took of himself surface on the World Wide Web of Deceit. Evidently, Oden took these photos himself with his camera phone and sent them to a girl he was seeing a few years back. I feel kinda bad for Oden. First, because he's been perpetually hurt. And now for trusting some girl with naked pics of him. Now, as many readers of this blog are aware, sexting (for the few of you who don't know or haven't participated in this practice {like the Jacobys no doubt}) sexting is sending self-taken naked pictures to whoever via cell phone) is very prevalent among younger (and sometimes not so much younger) skanks. I have seen plenty of slightly enticing to completely gross photos in texts of girls in various states of undress (from topless shots all the way to pics of chicks fingering themselves). The funniest part about all of this sexting is that the next day, when whatever girl has sobered up and realized what they did the night before in an alcohol fueled moment of exhibitionism, they text and plead to have the pics deleted. And I'm not always a terrible person (believe it or not), so I do always delete them. There are a number of times I've been tempted to share such photos and have a bit of a laugh over the whole thing. But I haven't. At least not until the day that I get a hot sext from someone like the chick who appeared on Friends as the other sister of the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt. Then, well...

Geilfuss finally put up a post earlier this week and in it he talked about a class he's taking on Shakespeare. And even though I've never read a book in my life (much less a Shakespearean play), I took a couple classes myself that centered around old Billy Shakespeare. And from what I can recall from the few days I actually showed up in class, Geilfuss will really enjoy the play about all the gender confusion (I believe it's titled 12th Bite). I have spent lots of time with Geilfuss and I think I know him well enough to state that he won't be able to follow 12th Bite at all. Maybe Geilfuss can get some tutoring on Shakespeare from Jason's Drunk Roommate Frank. That would be awesome. Because if there's one person in the bars in the town that Elaine Benes is from who might be more confused about Shakespeare than Geilfuss, it's Jason's Drunk Roommate Frank. I would buy them countless drinks just to listen to them discuss old Viola. I really would.

Now, if we could just get Geilfuss to take a class centered on my man Tommy Hardy...because old Eustacia Vye would blow his mind.

I got a text from my friend Bette earlier today (she is a true math expert, not a fake one like myself, and one of the nicest people you'll ever meet). Anyway, Bette did say how much she enjoyed some of the stuff on this blog involving State Workers. She knows everything I said about them recently is true.

I tried to sleep last night

But I caught you dreaming

About days we used to wonder away

The Guy Who Plays Devil's Advocate And Studies His Notes Admires And Charts His Growing Medically Aided Erections

Looks like I've stirred up a bit of controversy again on this blog. Not of the magnitude of the controversy with the editor of YES Weekly, not by a long shot. But, I got some comments after yesterday's post about why I make up names for places (one commenter wondered if I am required by law to change the names of places, and that's an interesting thought). And I know some of you are aware of why I do it. It's because I find it amusing. That simple. Also, it serves as a brain exercise for regular readers of this blog (at least those of you who have brains...), as they try and figure out the real name of whatever place mentioned. Just the other day, Brandon was noting that it took him awhile to figure out what Generic Bread really is. It's all just typical silliness.

Also, I'm still getting some comments on the picture of the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt. And in answer to one of the comments, I believe the picture from yesterday might have been done for Rolling Paper magazine. I can't swear to that though. I think it's time to move on as far as the hottest picture of the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt. I bet the chick from Friends who was Jerry Seinfeld's fake wife is getting a little jealous...

I saw where our friend Barack Hussein Obama is going to deliver something called The Status of the Union of the Snake later this evening. I think the snake part might be in reference to his monstrous looking wife, I'm not sure about that though. But I think I can save everyone time and effort and give The Status of the Union of the Snake in a nutshell: It sucks...Me, I won't be watching the thing. There's gotta be some hoops on somewhere. All folks are missing by skipping the big speech tonight is jive, promises that have no intention of being kept, lies, too much needless clapping, and gratuitous shots of Nancy Pelosi's cleavage, Harry Reid's dog face, and Joe Biden's massively erect medically induced boner. No thanks.

Lots of hoopla surrounding The Pants On The Ground Guy here lately. I think his name is Larry something or other. I even saw Brett Favre doing the song after the Vikes kicked ass last week against Dallas (his version wasn't very good, it appears Favre could use some singing lessons from another infamous "singing" quarterback: Terry Bradshaw {isn't it funny how you never hear about the old time greats like Johnny Unitas or Y.A. Tittle trying to sing}). Anyway, this Pants On The Ground Guy needs to try and cash in pretty quickly on the phenomenon, because like 2 weeks from now he'll be totally forgotten - much like Geilfuss is by cellmates at the Baltimore County Detention Center...

I got a couple texts last night from Luke (one of the Jacobys) and he was out at Low Bottoms on York playing trivia (not sure who all was out with him). Luke informed me that the guy who plays devil's advocate and studies his notes was out and that, unfortunately, his team won (I believe Tom's team goes by Kyle's Bowlers at that bar, seriously). No big deal there. However, Luke noted that our Lurch-like friend appeared to be admiring his own medically aided erection after his team's pointless "victory." Luke then noted that Tom probably charts the progress of his erections in some of the infamous notebooks he keeps in order to play devil's advocate and study his notes. Luke wondered how the Frankensteinesque trivia idiot might keep track of his growing stiffy. I had an answer for Luke, as I texted back: He measures the progress in millimeters.

Well, it looks like another utterly pointless post today...

Time isn't holding us

Time isn't after us

I'm out - TBFH.

An Ike Fan Walks Into Wachovia

Note: For the anonymous fan of the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt, use your imagination for a photo of her that might violate Terms of Use at Photobucket. I'm guessing it won't be too hard. This is a family friendly blog after all...Although the picture above it is nice too.

This old timer rambled into the bar (Scams Friendly) the other day at right about halftime of the Indy/Jets game. He sits down to Brandon's left and notices that Peyton Manning is on the field leading Indy. He orders a draft beer. Then he drops this question in my and Brandon's direction, "Is that the kid who played at State?" Brandon and I looked at each other for a moment, and then laughed. I told the old timer, "Do you mean Phil Rivers or possibly Roman Gabriel?" The old timer said "What?" I said "Manning went to Tennessee." The old timer said "What?" I said to Brandon "I give up." Brandon said "Why is it that no matter which bar we watch football in, there's always an idiot nearby." I told Brandon "That's life. You can never get away from idiots." And that's true. You can never get away from idiots. In fact, the old timer could have easily played trivia with The Greek Gods - because that's the kind of moronic question those guys are always asking.

I got a comment after yesterday's post (anonymously) that simply said: Best Picture Ever. And it's a good picture of the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt, no doubt about that, but I would hardly call it the best picture I've ever used on this blog. Maybe this anonymous commenter is a fan of Friends or maybe the anonymous commenter just appreciated the see-through nature of the top that the chick from Friends who was married to Pitt was sporting. Either way, comments are always welcome. I hope whoever this anonymous commenter is likes today's (PG) picture. I'm guessing that will be the case.

I'm a little surprised at the guys in Vegas. They put the opening line on the Super Bowl at Indy -3. And that was quickly bet up to 5 (at least on The Greek website it was). Everyone should be aware that Indy is a public team and has been for a number of years. Vegas could have put that line at 5 to start (I told Brandon on Sunday that I'd open it at 4&1/2). Anyway, the public has not even begun to bet on the game yet. The mafia guys are the ones who pounded Indy at -3 and -3&1/2. I'm guessing by next Friday the line will be at 6. I'm starting to get a strong opinion on how this game will go myself. I really am. I'm not giving anything away today though.

I was at the bank yesterday and this crazy old bag was in line just in front of me. She resembled someone who is the subject of an episode of Hoarders. Anyway, it gets her turn to be summoned to see the teller (a process I've always compared to getting summoned to see the wizard in that movie that should have starred Buddy Ebsen or getting called into the Principal's office). When this crazy old bag gets up to the teller, she pulls a jar of coins out of her coat pocket. The jar appeared to be full of pennies. Then this Hoarders looking crazy old broad says this to the almighty teller, "Could I change these for Eisenhower Dollars?" And when I overheard this crazy lady's request, I spoke up from the line and asked, "Dare I query as to why you want Eisenhower Dollars?" This old crazy broad says, "Sonny, I used to fantasize about Ike rubbing his bald head with oil and cozying up to my coochie with it." I said "Oh. Okay. Thanks for the clarification."

I'm at the Generic bread again and a local sportscaster just walked in. His name is Rich Brenner. He used to be on Fox 8 (I have no idea if he still is). Anyway, Brenner used to do these commentaries where he'd feign outrage at something in the world of sports. It was pretty silly. His hair looks the same though, just like all local sporstcasters' hair - too much hairspray. Like Jimmy Johnson. Fake.

A very pointless entry today (even for this blog). I'll try and do better next time.

Crosseyed And Painless

Brett Favre Is Still Brett Favre

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A Random Saturday Morning At Generic Bread...

Note: I apologize if I've used this picture before. I don't think I have, but I could have. And I don't feel like searching back through the 150+ posts to check...

Also, quick note to Keith: As to your trustworthiness - not really for me to say. I think it's best to leave that to the skanks in Catonsville. They would have a much better handle on that than I.

I'm sitting at a Generic Bread at the moment (11 AM Saturday) and lots of lonely women are just milling about; without a newspaper, magazine, book, or laptop. They're just sitting here by themselves, sipping the overpriced coffee, eating a bagel, and killing time. It's freaking me out!!! 2 of them are behind me (at different tables) and have been sitting there, blankly checking out whatever for about a half hour. What is up with this??? It's depressing as hell.

There's also a freaky couple sitting on the couch to my right and I am trying hard not to hear a word they're saying. But, it's not working...As I just heard the dude go on for 10 minutes trying to explain the meaning behind Mr Cab Driver by Lenny Kravitz to this chick. 10 minutes!!! The song should take about 5 seconds to explain. Here, quickly: Kravitz thinks cabbies are racist pieces of shit. That wasn't so hard, was it???

A new lonely woman just sat down to my right and she does appear to have a paper with her. But she's not reading it! She's just sitting there looking around aimlessly. And she's a bit of a bigger gal. This is really getting bad now. These freaky women are everywhere. I keep looking out the window to my left at the Costco parking lot (to avoid eye contact with the freaks in here). And it is packed. Packed with folks going in to buy huge tubs of mayonnaise...

Now the freaky couple is talking about Freddie Mercury. Why??? Why would you sit at a Generic Bread and chat with a freaky sweater wearing chick about Freddie Mercury??? Damn!!!

For the record, within 20 feet of me there are 5 women sitting by themselves. Doing nothing but staring into space!!! I got to get out of this place.

Lots of purple colored sweaters on the lonely women for some reason. Is there something about lonely women who waste time on Saturday mornings at Generic Bread and purple sweaters??? When did this start??? 3 of the 5 lonely women are wearing sweaters in some purple hue. The bigger gal favorably resembles Barney's mother...

I guess I should write something interesting. Only, I'm too distracted by all the freaks. I can't think straight.

Okay, that's it for me - now the weird couple is talking about scripture. Scripture!!! I'm tempted to quote something from the bible, but all I know is that speech Mace Windu gives in Pulp Fiction about the shepherd and the lamb and the whatever.

I thought the only lonely place was on the moon

Peace.

The Pimp Coat Rides High

Urgent Score Update from Raleigh - Pimp Coat 88, Dook 74. And as the 2 sides were leaving the court, I think I read Sid Lowe's lips as he said this to Coach Kry, "Where's my money, bitch!"

I saw a commercial for something called Trojan Ecstasy Condoms the other day. The ad claimed that not only was the condom "Ultra" ribbed (for her pleasure no doubt), but that there was lubricant both inside and out "for a more natural feel." The outside lubricant I get, but the inside lubricant confuses me a bit. What is it? Motor oil? Axle grease? Crisco oil? Skank juice? Spit from a dude working at the factory? All options appear bad...

I saw on the Faceshit where the Jacobys are going to grow mustaches for a party at Mount Martha Washington Tavern that will happen sometime in March. The whole idea sounds silly. Harmless, but silly nonetheless. And I was reminded of something very important when I read about this mustache party - never trust a man with facial hair. Also, never trust a man with 2 first names (by that I mean a first name for a first name and a first name for a last name). And when you get a guy with facial hair and 2 first names, really be wary. John Edward (the fake psychic) is a great example. That guy is horrible.

I was flipping around the old TV and came across the Trueblood recently. I thought it was okay. But those attempts at southern accents are not always spot on. The girl who stars in the thing is from New Zealand and it probably shouldn't be a surprise that she struggles to sound like a native Louisianian. I've met a number of girls from Louisiana over the years and none of them quite sounded like the New Zealand actress in Trueblood. Speaking of actresses who struggle with southern accents, I am told that the chick who is married to Kevin Bacon does a horrible one on the Closer (I've never seen it personally). The best at it might be Minnie Driver. She sounded authentic on that FX show.

Not a lot of time here today, but I feel like I've been making up for the small number of posts back in the fall here the past 6 weeks or so.

One day all 7 will die

I'm out - TBFH

A Guy Who Posed Nude For Cosmo Walks Into The Senate

There was some amazing news out of the great state of Taxachusetts (as J Danforth Quayle referred to it) last night. Some guy who posed nude for Cosmo won the Senate seat there that had been occupied by a Kennedy pretty much since 1953 (first Jack, then Teddy). And regular readers of this blog know my disdain for old Teddy K (not so much on political grounds, more on the grounds that he killed a woman). Anyway, here's how bad things have gotten for our awesome fake leader, Barack Hussein Obama - he went there to campaign over the weekend for some aristocratic looking chick, and she got drilled, by a guy who posed nude for Cosmo. Talk about being rebuked - it makes the rebuke Barry got in front of the International Olympic Committee last fall look like a victory in comparison. For a guy who nobody has ever heard of, who posed nude for Cosmo, to beat any Democrat in a Senate race in Taxachusetts, is not a good sign for Barry or the Democrat Party. Not at all. Their heads must be spinning today. I'm not sophisticated enough to understand the immediate political ramifications of this historic upset (I'd put it up there with Nova over the Hoyas in 85 or NCSU over Phi Slamma Jamma in 83), but I do wish old Teddy K had somehow managed to stick around to witness it himself. Because if he had, I'd have been up half the night laughing my ass off. As for how Barry might be coping with this catastrophic political loss, I'm guessing he's gonna throw another beer summit where Joe Biden tries in vain to hide his massively erect medicated boner from the cameras. Besides for Barry and Joe, I'm thinking Pauly D and The Situation could attend. Those 4 would be a killer quartet out at the clubs together. And for all the ladies out there - if you're ever in a club and see our awesome fake leader, Joe Biden's medically induced massive erection, Pauly D, and The Situation walk into the joint, run for your life.

I got a text from Mcgrain the other night and it was pretty succinct. It said: I hate the fuckin Jets. I'm guessing his hatred lies in the idea that the Bolts would have had a much better chance at winning in Indy this week. And there is merit in that idea, as the Bolts have done better than any other team in the league against Indy the last several years. Now, I'm not gonna call for an upset or anything this week. But, if the Jets stick to running the ball and hold Indy to field goal attempts most of the afternoon, they will have a great shot at pulling the upset. Although the spectacle of a Sanchez/Brees Super Bowl is not what the NFL wants, believe me. They want Manning/Favre, bad (the hype for such a contest will be the most nauseating thing in the history of media, even worse than the awful hype surrounding old Barry during 2008/early 2009). It will be interesting to see how these conference championship games are officiated. I have a feeling that there might be phantom roughing the passer calls on Bart Scott and Will Smith. Just a hunch...

I think the other motive behind McGrain's text lies in the city of Baltimore still (justifiably in my opinion) hating Irsay and the whole Mayflower trucks in the middle of the night business in 1984. I was in Baltimore for the Ravens/Indy playoff game in January 2007 (watching at the horrific Turquoise Terrapin in the town Elaine Benes is from). And the hatred for Indy was palpable then and there's no reason to believe it has subsided the last 3 years. All of Baltimore will be pulling for anyone but Indy to win the Super Bowl (although the thought of rooting for Favre would be unpleasant for most of the Ravens fans I know, so hopefully for them it will be Brees and Who Dat in the big game representing the NFC).

Then again, maybe I'm reading too much into McGrain's text, and he simply hates the fucking Jets...Maybe McGrain was never down with Richard Todd or Mark Gastineau. And if you're not down with Gastineau, I can't blame you. Because the jerk has never bothered to meet the son he sired with Brigitte Nielson (although you gotta think the kid did get to hang with Flavor Flav at some point, so that's something I guess...).

I like 2% milk.

Well, they aired another completely insipid episode of The Search for America's Most Competent Karaoke Singer last night. They glossed over most of the horrible "singers" too quickly again. And everyone is being way too nice on the panel these days. The British guy who wears too tight T-Shirts doesn't seem like himself. And I think I might have some insight into why the show has taken the direction it has - that awful Susan Boyle. I blame her. When she became an overnight sensation last year, all the mocking of the way contestants look became taboo. Of course, Boyle is an exceedingly ugly woman. Hideous. Nasty. Worse than Horseface and Bowling Ball rolled into one. Why anyone is interested in her is beyond me. All I know is that Boyle's emergence has put a real damper on the best part of The Search for America's Most Competent Karaoke Singer, and that's a shame. I long for the days of my main man William Hung. Because as I've said a million times, no one is hung quite like William Hung...

By the way, I think I've said this on this blog before, but if you don't own it, go out and buy William Hung's Christmas CD. It's called Hung For The Holidays (which works on a couple levels - it's almost like I'm doing the marketing for the kid). Hung's version of Silver Balls is awesome. Awesome.

I think that if you can't laugh at yourself, then go ahead and laugh at others.

Lastly today, I think the whole brouhaha from last week with the editor of YES Weekly is pretty much over. I really can't blame him for not responding to my response to his comment. I wish the guy luck with his publication though. I'm not gonna start reading it or anything, but I'm guessing he has a thankless job with long hours. So, again - you gotta feel for him a bit.

Poor poor pitiful me

The Night I Got 19 Off An NBA Forward

I got a comment after yesterday's post about running up the score in one of the Divisional games played Sunday, and I added a response to my post about it later. Anyway, that got me to thinking about a basketball game I was involved in back in the day. A game where I was on the receiving end of a massive and thorough ass kicking. It's a pretty interesting story. Here is my recollection of the whole thing.

In February 1988 I was a 17 year old Junior at a school named after the Duke of Wellington (I'm not making any of this up). We fielded a basketball team for some reason. The problem with our basketball team is that we were terrible. We had 2 guys who could play (no offense to any of my old teammates if they are reading this, and a few of them might be), and one of them was my buddy David Kaucheck. David was never much of a shooter, but he could get in the lane and cause some havoc from time to time. As for me, I never professed to be a great player, as I had no interest in defense and rarely stepped into the lane unless it was devoid of defenders. I wasn't much of a passer either, although on fast breaks I would repeatedly surprise teammates with behind the back and between the legs passes (teammates tended to be so surprised I was passing the ball that most of the time turnovers would ensue). What I could do is shoot the ball. And when I was feeling it, it was almost impossible for me to miss. I was so on fire one game (admittedly against a horrible Christian school from the country) that I ended up with 34 points, a single game record that stood for about 7 or 8 years after I left. So, I hope everyone is getting the impression that our team had one guy who could make some things happen off drives and spin moves in the lane and one guy who could shoot. Other than that,...well, I'm sure lots of those guys have very successful careers and are productive members of society (me, I'm sitting here blogging about a basketball game that was played 22 years ago, so...).

Our record that season was something like 5 and 15. If I'd ever kept a yearbook I could look it up. Alas,... We beat really bad teams from really small religious schools. My favorite religious school was one where they didn't let the cheerleaders wear skirts. They made them wear sweatpants. And those of you who know me pretty well will not be surprised to learn that I enjoyed talking with these sweatpants wearing cheerleaders during games. I remember several prayer huddles these cheerleader groups would have after some of my more prurient comments to them (I always wondered if they were praying for me or for themselves in these situations). Anyway, we hadn't beaten a legitimate team all year. And when we did play a school with resources, a decent gym, some players, and a coach who had some clue about hoops strategy, we generally got killed. Killed. Well, the season was winding down and the state playoffs were coming up. Our coach, the awesome Jammin Jay Hammond (I remember his name, and that's amazing) went to wherever the draw was and after they seeded the best teams, the also-rans would be drawn out of some hat and their coach would put them on the bracket in hopes of avoiding the top teams in the first game. Or should I say that most coaches would employ this strategy. Not Jay Hammond. When he got to pick where on the bracket the old Wellington School would be placed, he chose a first round match up against a team that had been ranked #1 in the USA Today poll earlier in the season (again, I'm not making any of this up). A school that is now defunct, but back then was a hoops powerhouse, Father Wehrle. And that was a mistake. Although, Jay Hammond did say we'd be talking about the game the rest of our lives, and here I am 22 years later doing just that.

Let me give everyone a little background on Father Wehrle basketball in the mid to late 80's. They won 4 State titles between 1986 and 1990. They were a juggernaut. On the team we played in February 1988 Father Wehrle had a number of guys who could ball. One was a high Division 1 point guard. And another, one of my favorites ever, a longtime NBA forward, Sir Lawrence Funderburke (he played for the Kings for a number of years as a pivotal reserve). So, we were gonna get killed. Obviously. I'll get to that in a bit. In the hype leading up to the game, the Dispatch ran an article labelling the match up as David vs Goliath. I remember telling my friend Morgan Howie that the comparison was an insult to David. At least David had a slingshot and God on his side. The Wellington School had future doctors, scientists, bankers, attorneys, and one irrelevant blogger. Not exactly an accurate comparison.

The game was played out at some hick high school 45 minutes from Columbus that I'd never heard of. But they had a big gym. The biggest crowd we'd ever played in front of before this big tournament game was probably a few hundred. This gym sat several thousand. And Father Wehrle had a big following. The place was pretty full before tip off. I remember looking over at Wehrle during warm ups, and noticing the size advantage they had. It was considerable. Jammin Jay Hammond had a plan though. A plan that had no chance at succeeding, but a plan nonetheless. He decided we should come out and not contest the jump ball, simply set up in a 2-3 zone and hope that Wehrle settled on long jumpers all night. I don't think anyone in the crowd had ever seen an uncontested opening tip. I thought it was pretty funny myself. I also remember right before tipoff, Coach Hammond told me, "Light it up. Shoot it any time you get the ball in your hands." I was fine with that, as no coach ever needed to encourage me to shoot the ball, believe me.

Well, this is where the story gets a little amazing, at least for the first 4 minutes of the game. We did indeed play our 2-3 zone and Wehrle did indeed jack up long jumpers and missed a few. Wehrle started in straight man and you guessed it, covering me was none other than future NBA forward, Sir Lawrence Funderburke. For the first few minutes, we were actually winning the game. I hit a couple 3's, we got a lay up cherry picking, and I hit 2 free throws for a hanging on the rim technical on Wehrle. We were up 11-10. It was stunning. Then the Wehrle coach called a timeout. Then Wehrle came out and pressed us. On the first possession we had after the Wehrle timeout is when everything flipped, bad. Really bad. We broke their press and I had the ball deep on the left baseline. I was wide open. I shoot the ball and am sure it's going in. Then out of nowhere flies Funderburke, and he swats my 22 foot jumper. He swats my 22 foot jumper into about the 10th row. The crowd went crazy. I said "Damn Lawrence. Did you finally start to play?" He chuckled. Lawrence didn't say anything, but he cracked a smile. From that point, well, let me just say this: Wehrle ended the half on a 38-0 run. That's right, 38-0. They were up 48-11. The Wehrle coach did the classy thing and played the entire second half in a zone. The score ended up 103-48. When the players from the very end of our bench came in for some of the 4th quarter, Wehrle let them drive to the hoop and attempt free layups. Of course when I was in the game, they did no such thing. It didn't irritate me though. I wouldn't have taken their free layups anyway. When I was in there in garbage time, I did what I always did, jacked up 25 footers until they started to fall. And a few did fall. For the game I had 19. And I wanted 20 so badly. I remember we called a timeout with like 25 seconds left, specifically to set up a 3 for me from the right foul line extended (my most money spot on the floor, from years of practice on the driveway). I missed it though. No 20 point game for me. I feel like my life would have been entirely different if I'd been able to walk around the last 22 years saying "I got 20 off an NBA forward." Saying "I got 19 off an NBA forward" doesn't roll off the tongue quite the same way.

As I intimated above, Father Wehrle went on to win the State Title. Sir Lawrence went on to stardom in the Big Ten, and his millions with the Sacramento Kings. As for me? I never played in a competitive basketball game again. The Wellington School changed coaches for my Senior season. No more Jammin Jay Hammond. The new guy was a tool (I couldn't tell you his name to save my life). I had no interest in wasting time playing for a tool, without any reasonable chance at winning. If we had a decent team, I might have stuck it out. I didn't go to many of the team's games my Senior year. But I did venture to their State Tournament game. And they weren't playing Wehrle or any other powerhouse for that matter. They did manage to get beat badly though. And I distinctly remember sitting there with Cara, and as the clock was winding down on the game, this tool coach they'd hired didn't have the decency to let my friend Dave Kaucheck play out the final competitive basketball game of his life on the floor. I remember Dave sitting there with a towel over his head. I felt like shit. I really did. There are no happy endings...

There are a few other memorable games I may blog about in the future. One, when I was in Middle School, was against the School For The Deaf. And let me just say, it was difficult to trash talk them...

I saw where Ricky Gervais has been getting ripped for his performance as host of the Golden Globe awards. And from what I've seen about his performance, I have to wonder what the Golden Globe people expected from Gervais. Had they ever seen any of his work before? Making people uncomfortable is what he excels at. Personally, I find Gervais to be pretty funny. But, he's not all people's cup of tea. I guess I'm baffled as to why they would invite him to host, then watch as he does his typical brand of humor, then feign indignance over it. It's silly.

Also, TV Guide Channel was running some fashion wrap about the Golden Globes yesterday. I didn't watch much of it. But they did show a photo of Jennifer Garner and labelled her a "fashion winner." And I don't know a thing about fashion, but I agree with them wholeheartedly in this case.

Note: I was gonna put a picture up of Sir Lawrence playing for the Kings. The problem is that I didn't like any of the ones on Google Images. If you search a little though, you can find video of Sir Lawrence dunking on Shaq. I would put it up here, but have no idea how to link to video on this blog. I'm technologically challenged, as always...

Illegal fun

Under the sun

Random Thoughts On Jersey Shore

Due to the extremely boring NFL playoff games yesterday (that's the worst thing about the playoffs - if a game sucks, you're stuck with it), I spent a good deal of the afternoon watching a Jersey Shore marathon on the MTV. It did manage to hold my attention for some reason. That reason is that the show is a perpetual train wreck.

Snooki - reminds me of a bowling ball in waiting. Give her a few years and she'll be as wide as she is tall. I like when she refused to eat the lobster, as she said "I don't think it's right to kill anything while it's still alive." I kept waiting for someone to ask her "How can you kill something if it isn't alive before killing it?" It would seem by definition that something would have to be alive in order to kill it. I also enjoyed when she used this awesome pick up line at the bar on a guy in a wife-beater - "Do you work on a farm?" The guy should have said, "Why yes. I'm Amish." Snooki kept referring to hooking up with her type of guy when out at the clubs and her type of guy seemed pretty easy to define: breathing.

Ronnie and Sammi - it was nauseating watching them almost break up every 15 minutes. I'm not sure how old they are, but they acted like 14 year olds with the constant fighting and inevitable getting back together. The thing about Ronnie is that he appears to get off on spastic dancing and fighting. His spastic dancing was reminiscent of the kids in The Charlie Brown Christmas Special. And his urge to punch random dudes on the Boardwalk was reminiscent of a guy coping, very unsuccessfully, with Roid Rage. It was harder to get a feel for Sammi, as she seemed to spend most episodes in bed, either with Ronnie, pining for Ronnie, or angry with Ronnie. I'm sure they'll have a long happy life together. And by long and happy I mean 2 weeks full of deception, crying, and domestic violence.

JWoww - I'm a big fan. She will undoubtedly be a hard looking woman within a decade (rode hard and hung up wet, as they say in the South). But for now, she is awesome. When JWoww told her boyfriend, over the phone, that she'd seen Pauly D's penis, she said it so matter of fact and without remorse that it was priceless. I wish her nothing but luck in life. She's gonna need it.

Vinny - The only remotely decent person on the show. I'm not sure why he was on there. Vinny was totally out of place. In the little private monologues each cast member gave, Vinny was the only one to sound lucid and capable of reflection. I'm sure MTV regrets having him on the show. I'm guessing when Vinny got home after filming was complete, he took like a 1 hour shower in hopes of killing whatever residual bacteria might have been lingering around him from being in the vicinity of that skank infested hot tub.

Pauly D - I loved the kid's hair. He reminded me of Jersey guys you see come into Get Bent Lounge and order Jager after Jager after Jager (like the guy in the YouTube clip My New Haircut). The best thing about Pauly D is that he seemed completely incapable of anything except thinking about what was right in front of him. I've always been slightly envious of folks who go through life like that. All Pauly D thought of was working out, getting his hair cut, doing laundry, getting drunk, getting laid, and getting rid of the girl as fast as possible after finishing with her. When Pauly D was being stalked by the Jewish chick on The Boardwalk, I think we learned something very telling about humanity - that Jewish girls are crazy...

The Situation - definitely the breakout star of the show - a man living in a fantasy world of his own design. The Situation didn't appear to have a single redeeming quality, as he never even, for a second, thought of anyone but himself. He's the kind of guy who instigates a fight, then runs away when it starts. I think lots of people are fascinated by Jersey Shore because of The Situation. Unless you spend considerable time travelling around the underbelly of society, you are unlikely to meet anyone like The Situation. In fact, you don't want to meet anyone like The Situation in person. It's best to just watch them from the safety of your sofa on the MTV.

I think there is only 1 more new episode of Jersey Shore to air (from the looks of the promos, I'm guessing that Snooki will do every guy in the house who will have her, in the hot tub). It's hard to envision this show having any staying power. MTV can put the same cast up in the same house on the shore next summer. And it will be even more contrived (believe it or not, it is possible), but the moment will have passed. And nobody will watch. In the end, all that will be left of Jersey Shore is The Situation going into clubs the rest of his life and scamming for free booze and skanks. In other words, he's destined for greatness...

Looking back on the Ravens game the other night, I really question John Harbaugh. When they got the ball down 7 at the 2 minute warning in the first half, that was some terrible play calling. And the decision to give Ray Rice only 13 carries was bizarre. Flacco had 35 attempts for 179 yards on the night. That's barely 5 yards an attempt. I know it was a bitter, bitter pill to swallow for Ravens fans. Ken Wisenhunt was in the same boat though. He abandoned the run in the middle of the 1st quarter and watched helplessly as the Saints destroyed Kurt Warner and built an insurmountable lead before halftime. As for Wade Phillips, I would give him more of a pass. The Cowboys were moving the ball most of the game, but mistakes just killed them inside the Vikes 35 yard line. And it is Wade Phillips...As for Norv Turner and the Bolts, I had a sneaking suspicion they would figure out a way to lose that game. And they did.

I was sitting out at the Scams at Brassfield the other day, minding my own business, and waiting for Brandon to show up. Anyway, they have these 32 ounce beers for $3 (it's no wonder they're on the verge of going out of business). So, I'm nursing one of these big beers and to my left was a family of 5 all huddled around the MegaTouch. And they were screaming at the thing pretty loudly. I didn't think much of it. Then, the younger daughter of the family (around 20 I'd guess) said, pretty loudly, "Ooh, look at her tits. Those are nice!" And that got my attention. So, I spun around and got out of the bar stool and walked behind them on my way out to smoke. And I'll be damned, but this family of 5 was playing what appeared to be naked photo hunt. And that's cool. I don't pass judgment. But I did notice a certain look on the mother's face as I was passing by. The look of delight as she watched with pride her son and 2 daughters play a life and death game of naked photo hunt. When I came back in after smoking, I mentioned to this full of pride mother "It's nice to see a family spend some quality time together." She said "You have no idea." Luckily they cleared out pretty soon after that. And then things got worse, because a guy came in wearing gym clothes and inquired about beer specials. He ordered a Corona and stood to my right saying things like "I'd like to fuck that cheerleader (the Saints game had started)." After several comments along those lines, I decided I should say something to him. So I said "Who Dat?" He said "Huh?" I again said "Who Dat?" He said "I'm Dat!" I said "Oh good. I was getting worried. Now if you could just stand there and keep your impure thoughts to yourself, I'd appreciate it." Fortunately for me, Brandon came in about that time. He asked "How's it going in here?" I said "Well, besides for the family that seemed hell bent on some very strange loving and this retard to my right going on about his prurient thoughts concerning Saints cheerleaders, things are still shitty." Brandon said "What's new?" I said "Exactly."

Okay, I'm getting bored again...

UPDATE AT 1:30 - I just saw a comment asking about my thoughts on the Vikings running up the score on Dallas yesterday. And generally my thought on that is if you don't want the score run up, then tackle somebody. However, in this case Brad Childress and Favre are such terrible human beings that I don't have any doubt that the score was run up because Favre had never beaten the Cowboys in the playoffs (he lost 3 in a row back in the 90's to Dallas). Remember this about Brad Childress, he looks like a pedophile. And never depend on a pedophile to do the classy thing. Again, having said that, my thought remains this: if you don't want to lose a Divisional Playoff game that badly, play better.

I'm stuck in the mud, somewhere in the swamps of Jersey

Agent Zero Gets A Raw Deal

It looks like my main man Agent Zero is in some serious trouble with law enforcement in DC. I've been hesitant to mention this whole waving guns thing at the Phone Booth the last few weeks because it all seems silly to me. I will defend Agent Zero against these ludicrous charges. Anyone who is naive enough to think that shenanigans like what happened in the locker room back in December between Agent Zero and Javaris Crittenton doesn't go on all over professional sports, is living in a dream world. The problem that Agent Zero has is that it became public. And lots of white people got outraged. And then David Stern had to do something to placate the outraged white fans (so they don't quit paying exorbitant prices to sit courtside at Bullets {they'll always be the Bullets to me} games). And now this stuff with the felony charge comes up to "make an example" of Agent Zero. The fact is that Gilbert Arenas is, when healthy, one of the most entertaining and talented players in the NBA. He is one of a handful of guys I'll watch no matter who the Bullets are playing and no matter how bad the Bullets or the opposing team happens to be. I only hope Agent Zero has good attorneys who can get him out of this mess and get him back on the floor sometime in the next year. Because without Arenas around, the NBA is an inferior product. And life is not nearly as exciting - at least for folks who enjoy watching guys who can flat out ball.

I was reminded recently, by an occasional reader of this blog, that it had been forever since I'd done an installment of If I Could Ask Barry. And that reader is right. It has been a number of months. So, here we go. Remember, as always, it might go something like this:

Barry: You! The blue eyed devil himself - where the hell you been hiding? You haven't popped up in months.

TBFH: I know sir. I've been laying low again, spending lots of time hiding out in extended stays trying to avoid your boys in the ACORN, not to mention Netanyahu's boys in the Mossad. It's been pretty rough.

Barry: Well, I haven't had it so easy myself, my young protege. It's been rough for me as well. What you got for me today? Fire away.

TBFH: I wanted to ask you about the whole transparency in governing thing. I know you'd made promises to keep all the health care wheeling and dealing up front and out in public. I believe you even mentioned all the deal making being aired on C-SPAN. What happened?

Barry: That's a fair question. I never had any intention of the health care deal being put together in a public forum. I did say that I wanted that, yes. I said it over and over. But, I never had any illusion about Reid and his boys being willing to go along with such a far fetched promise. The transparency talk was to dupe fed up white suburban voters to go along with my candidacy. They like that silliness. It worked too.

TBFH: Okay. I appreciate your candor there. The other thing I was curious about is these plummeting approval ratings. I mean, you gotta be feeling a little deflated over the way lots of folks have turned on you. What do you chalk that up to?

Barry: Well, I anticipated that all along. I knew the stuff I was pedalling in the election was pie in the sky crap. And that once I got into power, all that change and hope silliness would fade quicker than Joe Biden's medically induced massively erect penis at a sorority party. I had a good idea that I'd turn into a major disappointment pretty quickly.

TBFH: Why's that?

Barry: The truth is that I'm trying to forever change this country into a European style socialist laughingstock. I knew that normal Americans would find that very upsetting. Of course, they have found it very upsetting. But, that's not a real problem for me. I'm on a mission. One I consider to be transformational in nature. I want to make all the failed leftist leaders who came before me proud. You know kid, the dudes they build up at Ivy League schools. I was never anticipating being popular for long. As long as I get what I want and make all my changes almost impossible to undo, then I'll consider myself a success. Anything else?

TBFH: Yes, how was your Christmas?

Barry: I don't like to use the word Christmas. It has a connotation that I find distasteful. But, I had a nice vacation. Got in lots of golfing.

TBFH: What did you get from your wife?

Barry: Well, it's a little embarrassing. But, between you and me, I got some sexual aides.

TBFH: Huh? You sir?

Barry: Yeah, I'm not sure if you've seen some of the tabloids at the grocery counters. But if you have, you won't be surprised to find out I got a very sleek anal tickler.

TBFH: How's it working out for you?

Barry: That's a little personal, my young padawan. I will tell you though, that I've been walking a little bow-legged. If you get my drift? Do you kid?

TBFH: I get it. I get it. Thanks, I guess. Look, I gotta run. I wanna get back to the extended stay to catch Conan before they permanently kick him off NBC.

Barry: Godspeed to you my son. Godspeed.

I got a comment about yesterday's post and in it someone was hoping I was joking about State workers sleeping in their cubicles. And I wish I could say I was. But I wasn't...

Also, I think I may have irritated the editor of one of the local weekly papers here in Greensboro. Someone purporting to be the editor of YES Weekly responded to my silly commentary on the publication. And the guy certainly has the right to respond. I'm cool with that. Although, I think he may have overreacted a bit. Just a bit. For all the readers too lazy to go back and read yesterday's comment section of this blog, I'm gonna reprint the editor's comments here, with my own comments on his comments. Note: the editor's comments are in black. My comments on his comments are in blue.

Are you kidding me, you anonymous, fatuous pussy? (Fatuous and anonymous I freely admit to. As far as being a pussy though, that's not something I've heard anyone call anyone else since college. And those instances were generally to encourage a lightweight drinker to speed up their alcohol consumption - "Down it you pussy!" That kind of thing. As Mama Stills pointed out, it is an interesting choice of words for the editor of an award winning alternative weekly. I'll simply let those of you who have had the opportunity to spend time with me decide how much of a pussy I am.) You clearly don't know your ass from a hole in the ground (I guess that might be true, but it's an odd accusation nonetheless)- I have the best damn writers in the state working for me (I don't really blame the guy for standing up for his staff, as it's the cool thing to do as a boss. I give him kudos for this. However, he never disputes that his paper, at least in the past, was riddled with errors), as evidenced by the 15 or so North Carolina Press Awards we have won since we began in 2005 (I'm not sure how prestigious these awards are to be honest, but again, kudos to YES Weekly), a far sight more than your beloved Rhino has won in that time, I should add (I'm not sure where the guy got the idea that it is "my beloved Rhino." If you read yesterday's post, I was critical of one of the columnists from the Rhino. Although, he never does dispute my assertion that the Rhino does the best job in town of covering local politics and such.)

Let me tell you something: (This sounds ominous...) I read people's writing every day (As an editor, I would assume that's the case). For money (At least they're paying the dude.). And I wouldn't hire you to write a sign that says "pull" on our front door (How about "push." Could I get an assignment writing that on the front door? Admittedly, my penmanship is awful. So, he's probably right on there.). No you are not a journalist (I've been clear that I'm not a journalist. My recollection of journalism majors {no offense to Geilfuss} is that they are smelly hippies who have father issues and hate anything having to do with "the establishment."), which is obvious by your unstudied opinion about local media (I never claimed to have a studied opinion of local media. I made it clear that I hadn't read YES Weekly in quite some time.) and the fact that your blog is largely based on copyright infringement (Not sure where this accusation comes from. If anyone else in the world, on any blog or whatever, is writing anything similar to what I am, then that's pretty depressing for all of us. If you think I suck, then that's cool. But it is original. It all flows right out of the top of my head). What you are is an imbecile (Juvenile I'll cop to, but I guess in this editor's fury he went a little over the top.) with a high speed internet connection (I do use WiFi!!!) - a growing demographic, I admit (Again, I highly doubt there's another blogger quite like me. Shudder the thought.) - and a reluctance to use your real name (It's not a reluctance. It's an outright refusal. That's the beauty of the World Wide Web of Deceit.), which is probably a good move considering the depths of your ineptitude (Certainly this editor is entitled to his opinion. Again, I don't begrudge him that. If he finds my writing/thoughts/intellect inept, he has every right to.). Do me a favor and continue to say "no" to my paper (Gladly - no problem.). I don't want mouth breathing dipshits (Interesting choice of words here, as this editor might be a fan of Dukes of Hazzard or Smokey And The Bandit. As I haven't heard the insult "dipshit" in almost 30 years.) like you sullying my brand (I would be slightly interested in hearing how this editor envisions his "brand." I don't think of YES Weekly as a brand per se. I see it more as a useless alternative weekly that promotes strip joints around the area with pictures of half naked skanks {at least they used to - my apologies if they no longer run these ads, but I bet they do}. ). And you are welcome giving you your second blog comment in, what (It's a bit hard to follow this sentence. But as I said earlier, he's more than welcome to; hell, everyone is more than welcome to leave whatever comment they'd like.), like a year (I'm not sure of the accuracy of this assertion. As Grama Dave knows, sometimes it's not the best idea to leave serious comments on this non-serious blog.)? Now go out and see if you can get yourself laid with it (This is also curious. As I'm not sure the motivation behind the comment. Maybe real writers hope to use their stories/articles to score with babes? I have no idea. This is the most puzzling thing the editor said.). Brian Clarey, Editor, YES Weekly (I am too lazy to check and see if the editor of YES Weekly is named Brian Clarey. If it's not, then the real editor should figure out who is writing comments on this blog claiming to have his job. If this really is the editor of the YES Weekly, thanks for the comment. Feel free to write in again. I'm all for healthy and rigorous disagreement.)

Well, we got a huge weekend of NFL Divisional action starting here tomorrow. For what it's worth, roll with the Ravens and the points. Peyton has struggled (at least for him) against the 3/4 and the Ravens should be able to run the football right at the Colts. It wouldn't surprise me to see Baltimore win outright.

Also, thanks to Geilfuss for his comment after Mr. Clarey's comment. He makes an excellent point. Why someone who runs an alternative weekly, would be so keen to shut up other forms of alternative thought or whatever, is pretty hypocritical. Well said there Geilfuss.

Lastly, I was watching the new Celebrity Rehab with Rodman last night. And it is awesome. And Heidi Fleiss - wow, she's looking rough. Rough. Ouch.

You are far and away

My most imaginary friend

Haitian Divorce

I saw on the old TV where there has been a deadly eathquake in a country called Haiti. And putting aside the enormous tragedy of the event for a moment, think about this: A few days ago a vast majority of Americans had no idea what Haiti was or where it was on a map. A few weeks from now a less vast majority of Americans will have no idea what Haiti is or where it is on a map. And a year from now, the same vast majority of Americans as last week will have no idea what Haiti is or where it is on a map. What seems to happen when a horrible event like this happens somewhere around the globe is that Americans feel bad, take notice due to media saturation of the event, send money to the Red Cross or some other charity, then when news of The Tiger's latest transgressions or Lindsay Lohan's latest stint in rehab hit, everyone moves on and forgets all about the tragic event. If folks remember back several years ago to the tsunami that hit over in the Indian Ocean, there was a tremendous outpouring of donations to aid the folks affected. The story that doesn't get told is this: many of the donations have yet to be sent in - 5 years later. Folks see the devastation, feel bad, pledge dough, then get an itch to head to the tittie bar, spend the dough there instead, and never fulfill their pledge to aid victims of natural disasters. And on this Haitian disaster, I see where MTV is going to do a telethon to raise money for aid (I believe Clooney is going to host this telethon). My guess is that folks will feel bad, call and pledge some dough, feel good about themselves for a few days, forget all about their pledge, and move on with life. As far as my personal feelings about Haiti? I'm aware of where Haiti is, how poor folks are there, the sky high illiteracy rate, and the fact it's the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. And I have been for long time. None of that is gonna change because of monetary donations to charities over the next few days. As I intimated at the beginning of this paragraph, a year from now no one will care again and Haiti will be in the same shape it was before the earthquake, if not worse. I don't know what that means exactly about humankind, but it's the truth.

I checked the Faceshit earlier and a number of "friends" on there have been expressing support for the Haitians and talking about prayers and yes, donating some dough to charities to "help." These folks are well meaning and their thoughts and prayers are sincere. But later in the week, as plans for Friday and Saturday are heating up, and the prospect of watching NFL playoff action nears, they'll have mostly forgotten all about Haiti. The whole thing is depressing as hell.

At least the weather is warming up a bit here, as it's been unseasonably cold the past few weeks. When it hits the mid 50's (tomorrow maybe) I'm gonna break out the shorts. I hate cold weather. Bring on more global warming. I love global warming!!!

I saw another post on the Faceshit that caught my eye. It was from The Guy Who Writes Movie Reviews From Chicago. He noted that at the place he works, buttons were handed out proclaiming "We're still #1." Some of you might recall a post I did about a year ago about the posters plastered all over the building claiming #1 status. And as I said back then, if that place is #1 in the country at what they do, that is the saddest indictment of the American Education system I can ever imagine. The only things I think the place could rightfully argue #1 status in are: time spent sleeping in cubicles, rank incompetence, and % of workers who obsessively snack. I always thought the motto of the place should be: Every Child Left Behind...

I was sitting last week at Playas one night and talking to this bookie about nothing in particular. And he mentioned frequenting a joint here in town that is known as a "juice" bar. What that means, for the uninitiated (the Jacobys come to mind...), is that you bring your own booze or beer and they sell it back to you. They do this so the skanks in there can be completely nude. There are laws in most cities about having a liquor license and how naked skanks can get. I'm not a big strip joint guy at all. I do remember being rushed by several fraternities when I was a wide-eyed rookie in college and getting taken to a few of these all nude joints. I remember I spent most of my time laughing and saying things like "You're not that impressive," as the strippers thrusted their trim toward me. Anyway, the bookie I was speaking with is a big fan of this juice bar place. Which makes sense because guys who are into one kind of deviant deal tend to be into other kinds of deviant deals. Being a bookie and frequenting all nude strip joints probably goes hand in hand. The bookie invited me to go along with him to the all nude joint and I declined the invitation, as I was worried about cottage cheesy like yeast infections flying at my face from some skank's trim.

As readers here in Greensboro know, there is a local weekly paper called the Rhino. Now, the Rhino is vastly superior to the local paper at covering local news. It's not even close. Anyway, one section of the Rhino is written by a very successful science fiction writer named Scotty Card (I believe he wrote a best seller called Lender's Game - about usary in space or something). His column basically consists of his opinions on food products, electronics, restaurants, stores, books, music, TV shows, and movies. I skim Scotty's column every week to see his thoughts on current films and sometimes TV shows (if it's a show I've got any interest in ever thinking about watching). I find many of Scotty's opinions ridiculous. The reason for that probably is, and one important thing to keep in mind is, that Scotty's world view is vastly different than mine. Scotty strikes me as a family man who cares about society, wants to do good, etc. It's also important to note that Scotty Card is a Mormon. So, he's got that going for him too. The reason I bring all this up is that I was reading his most recent column and he was going on about Up In The Air. He wasn't crazy about it. Which is cool, whatever. However, within his review he noted that he never bothered to see Juno because he was sure he wouldn't like it (and he probably wouldn't have...). So, here's another case of a dude trashing something he's never seen. It reminds me of all the outrage over The Last Temptation Of Christ back in the 80's by folks who never saw it. Or the boycotts of NYPD Blue before the pilot had even aired. Scotty Card has mentioned a number of times over the years that he has a general disdain for Marty Scorcese and Tarantino (among other filmmakers). And again, that's cool. Whatever. The thing that puzzles me is that he dismisses some of the greatest films without ever bothering to actually, you know, see them. Now, Scotty Card doesn't have to like Jason Reitman or whoever else. But it strikes me as fairly hypocritical for a man who, when you look at his column, seems to urge open-mindedness in so many matters (although my interaction with Mormons is that they tend to be very rigid in their views) won't give these films or filmmakers a fair shake. I realize all of this doesn't really matter much to anyone. But Scotty Card has always kind of rubbed me the wrong way. He comes across as a blowhard religious elitist. It's a shame because I wish the Rhino had someone cool writing reviews. It's not a big deal, but I would enjoy reading the paper a little more...

While on the topic of weekly papers here in Greensboro, let me note: I say no daily to the YES Weekly. It's terrible. And embarrassing for the city. It's been around for a few years now. Maybe things have gotten better, but back when it started, it was unreadably bad. The writing was terrible and the grammatical/usage mistakes were way worse than even Geilfuss' blog. The guy who edits the thing is pitiful. It's a sad, sad attempt attempt at a paper. If you're ever in Greensboro and pick up the latest issue of YES Weekly, please don't blame folks from around here (although granted, I'm not from around here originally myself) for how awful it is. If I remember correctly, the guy who edits the thing is from New York or Jersey. Poor bastard...

A quick reminder here in light of some feedback I've received from some recent posts: I am not, nor do I pretend to be, a journalist. In fact, I would categorize me being called a journalist to be as incorrect as me being called a teacher. I am merely an irrelevant person, writing an irrelevant blog, in an irrelevant world.

Rudderless

I'm out. Goodnight now. - TBFH

Thoughts On Up In The Air

I got around to seeing Up In The Air yesterday. And for anyone who hasn't checked it out, you really should. I'll warn you that it is extremely depressing, but like the best art, truthful. Basically, it's telling viewers what many of us know, have long suspected, or been afraid to admit: that we are doomed. Clooney is pretty convincing as a guy who has given up all hope for the normal "happiness" that life might have to offer, as he lives out of a suitcase in Hilton after Hilton all over the country. There comes a key point during the film where, after attending his sister's wedding with this babe, decides that maybe he does want a chance at the normal "happiness" society deems acceptable. What he does is he runs out of this motivational speech he's giving in Vegas (a speech about the benefits of having no ties to anyone or anything) and races to Chicago to sweep this babe off her feet and live happily ever after (Clooney falls for her after several weeks of casual sex here and there around the country - and it's believable that Clooney would fall for this babe, as she's bright, funny, and smoking hot). Now, I casually said to the person sitting next to me, as Clooney was about to walk up to the brownstone this babe lived in "I bet her husband opens the door." And although her husband did not open the door, it became quickly apparent that Clooney's babe was a married mom with a couple of kids and had no interest in Clooney beyond a casual fling here and there. See, just as Clooney is finally willing to change his ways and get with this babe on some meaningful level, reality smacks him in the face. He ends up pretty much where he started, alone (although he does connect somewhat with his sisters at one point, so that's slightly good I guess). It goes to show once again, that there really is little point to life and no matter how much effort you put out and are willing to change for the hope of "happiness" with someone, you're fucked. You're alone. Everything about this movie is really good, really truthful, and yes, really depressing. Jason Reitman did something very hard in the directing world, he followed one of the best films you'll see (Juno) with something even better, and in a way even truer (although there are some depressing truths explored in Juno as well). I don't really have a film to compare Up In The Air with that leaps to mind (maybe The Accidental Tourist, in a way). As far as Clooney, he's so good that I can only imagine two other actors who would have been as good in this part (Downey and Cusack).

There is a phrase used in Up In The Air that really struck me when I heard it. When Clooney is discussing what he means to the babe who ended up being married with the kids (this is in a phone conversation after he impulsively showed up at her door), she describes him as a parentheses. And that is one of the more powerful analogies I've ever heard. As readers of this blog know, I use lots of parentheses and parenthetical devices when writing. As many of you also know, the information or comments that appears inside parentheses is not essential. In the case of this blog, they're generally irrelevant asides inside stories or comments that are irrelevant asides to begin with. So, to be called a parentheses by the girl you think you've fallen for had to be devastating for Clooney. I think the phrase is so spot on and applies so perfectly to me (an amusing diversion in short doses, but no one you'd be remotely interested in for a sustainable length of time), that I'm considering changing the name of this blog to: The Parentheses From Hawaii. Granted, it doesn't quite roll off the tongue the same way...

I was flipping around the old TV a bit and saw that America's Most Competent Karaoke Singer Competition is back on. It was highly disappointing though. There weren't nearly enough terrible singers on there to keep me amused. Instead, they focused on kids with uplifting stories who are fighting for their dreams against all odds. It was saccharine and vomit-inducing. If I wanna see inspirational stories of young singing hopefuls trying to battle problems to realize their dreams, I could go to Karaoke night at the Ramada on Loch Raven. Believe me, those folks are fighting long odds and have tons of obstacles in their paths to glory. The main obstacles being that they are talentless, ugly as sin, smell bad, and hang out at the Ramada.

Well, the coaching carousal has been rocked by Pete Carroll's decision to go to Seattle. I think they must have guaranteed Carroll like $7 million a year to get him to leave LA. I don't know why else he'd take it except for the dough. Unless USC is close to coming under NCAA sanctions for the Reggie Bush stuff, if that's the case then maybe Carroll wants to get away before having to personally suffer any consequences. For what it's worth, the Seahwaks can be good again soon. They need a couple of playmakers, better health/depth on the offensive line, and to groom a successor to Hasselback. The bigger stunner than Carroll going to the Seahawks is Jane Kiffin, er...Lane Kiffin going to USC after 1 year at Tennessee. I think the reason Kiffin jumped is that he may have some NCAA sanctions coming in Knoxville himself down the line and doesn't want to be around for those. Instead, he can be in LA to face Carroll's possible sanctions and say things like, "Well, I wasn't the head coach here at the time..." Now, as for who the Vols should hire next, my vote would be Charlie Weis, Romeo Crennel, or some other failed, heavy Belichick lacky. The good Vols fans deserve another guy who resembles Phil Fulmer in girth.

There are rumors that The Tiger has checked into a Sex Rehab in Arizona. I don't know why The Tiger would do such a thing. I've seen a few episodes of Celebrity Sex Rehab With Dr Drew and the whole thing is pretty silly. If you want to kick skanks for some reason, you'd think Sex Rehab is the last place to do so, as those clinics would have to be teeming with skanks just begging to be done by someone as rich and famous as The Tiger. Also, remember this: Rehab is for quitters.

I saw where a Japanese guy who was unfortunate enough to be in both Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the atomic bombs were dropped in 1945 died last week. He somehow managed to live into his 90's. And I wonder if there has ever been a guy quite as bizarrely intertwined with history as this Japanese dude. It's unimaginable to think about what must have been going through the minds of folks in Hiroshima when the bomb hit (the ones who didn't die instantly or almost instantly anyway). To survive it and then 3 days later to have it happen again has to be beyond the worst cruelty I can think of. And to have to walk around the next 64 years or so with that in your memory is also unimaginable. And I saw where some folks argue this guy was "lucky" to have survived both bombs. And I'm not sure "lucky" is quite the word I'd use. More like permanently horrified would be my guess. He probably lived every moment of every day of the rest of his life thinking about the bombings and wondering when the next one would hit. That's hardly a "lucky" way to go through life. It reminds me of that scene in Schindler's List where the prisoners are rounded up, stripped, herded into what they assume is a gas chamber to die, screaming and crying, then just when they expect the gas to come and kill them, instead water comes out and they get an actual bath. Forgetting the possible historical inaccuracies of the scene for a moment, that has to be one of the cruelest things you could do to someone. Then to go through life with the memory of the horror of being certain you were about to die, only to feel guilty because you didn't and millions of others did, that's about the cruelest thing I can think of. That or this poor Japanese man who had to walk around 64 years in a similar state of horrible flashback mixed with an overwhelming survivor's guilt. As I've said before on this blog, the 20th Century was a doozie. Awful, awful things. And some day I'll post my thoughts about the Allied bombing of Dresden (I almost got beaten up after a History class in college by an angry mob of well meaning, but overly simplistic patriotic guys after expressing my take on that - and that's the truth).

Butterscotch street lamps mark my path

Mark my path

Mark my path, down